


where dwells the breath of all persisting stars

by xxrisque



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Valjean has requested your presence at the initiative meeting this Saturday. Well, not you specifically, but Aegis. He thinks you’ll be an asset to the team.”</p><p>“No one rescues tiny fluffy kittens from trees quite like you do,” Bahorel sniggers.</p><p>“Alright, fine. I’m in,” Combeferre replies, looking between the two of them. “Shit, Courfeyrac’s going to be there. He doesn’t know I’m Aegis, I’ve never found the right moment to tell him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	where dwells the breath of all persisting stars

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obscenely excited to finally share this with everyone!
> 
> Warnings for gun usage, comic violence, mentions of war and plane accidents.
> 
> Betaed by [pudgetaire/spookierenwalker](http://spookierenwalker.tumblr.com/).
> 
> With lovely art by putdownthatrevolutionary! (link to be added when posted uwu)

“And who’s this?” Valjean asks with a long-suffering sigh, looking across the table at Courfeyrac. He’s leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up onto the table and eating an apple impossibly loudly.

“Combeferre. He’s my head of security and my right hand man. Don’t go anywhere without him.” Courfeyrac smirks cheekily, taking another bite. 

“I thought that was Pontmercy.” Valjean raises an eyebrow. The man standing at Courfeyrac’s side shuffles awkwardly, hugging his files and clipboards close to his chest.

“They both are, and for entirely different reasons.” Courfeyrac sits up properly at this, throwing the core of his apple over his shoulder, where it hits an unsuspecting agent on the back of the head. “Marius is a little more used to the inner workings of government, I’ll admit.”

Valjean turns to Combeferre and looks him up and down. Combeferre blanches under his stare, fiddling distractedly with his glasses and absently moving his files and folders around.

“Are you super?”

“No, sir.”

“Mutant?”

“No, sir.”

“Mutate?”

“No, sir. And with all due respect, I’m not _anything_. I just work security, sir,” Combeferre replies with an air of finality, fingers tightening on his documentation. He looks to Courfeyrac desperately. “Can I be excused now, sir?”

“Of course.” Courfeyrac leans backwards to pat his arm affectionately. “I’m sure Valjean has important matters to discuss with me anyway.”

Combeferre nods tersely and excuses himself, all but running out of the room. The electric doors slide shut behind him as he goes, and he leans against the wall to steady himself and takes long, shuddering breaths.

“Everything alright?” someone asks from opposite him, and he looks up to see Feuilly watching him closely, a concerned look on his face.

“I’m fine. First time on a helicarrier is all. You guys come to us, usually.” Combeferre smiles weakly, standing up properly. “Nice to see you again.”

Feuilly smiles in return, straightening his standard issue blue uniform.

“You get used to it. Is Courfeyrac in there?”

“Yeah, Valjean called him up this morning.Something about a “rescue mission” he’s needed for –I didn’t ask.”

“I see,” Feuilly replies. “Do you want to grab a coffee in the research lab while you wait for him?”

“If you’re offering.” Combeferre’s smile widens, and Feuilly leads him through the winding corridors and rooms until the find the research laboratory, where there’s a man slicing through the tables with a pair of katana.

“ _Bahorel_!” Feuilly exclaims in dismay.

The other man stands up in the detritus of tables and splinters and lifts up the mask over his face. A mop of dark hair falls into his eyes and he ruffles it haphazardly, running a hand over his undercut. He holsters his swords and throws his mask to one side.

“Hey.” The man smirks, holding out a hand to Combeferre. “I’m Bahorel. You’ve probably heard of me.”

“You’re Scarlet, right?” Combeferre frowns at him, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

“The one and only,” he grins. “But you can call me Bahorel.”

“Would you mind telling me what these poor, innocent tables did to deserve this?” Feuilly gestures around him at the splintered wood and smashed glass.

Bahorel shrugs.

“Bored.” Bahorel rocks back on his heels, tucking his thumbs into the belt around his waist. “You weren’t around to annoy.”

“I am at _work_ , Bahorel,” Feuilly groans. “And now you’ve just given me more to clean up.”

“I can help,” Combeferre offers, setting his files down on the one surviving table.

“Would you?” Feuilly replies, relieved, as Bahorel sheepishly grabs brooms from the cupboard.

This is how Courfeyrac finds him two hours later, with a pile of wood and glass and twisted metal in one corner of the room, having a loud discussion with Bahorel and Feuilly.

“There you are,” he says with a smirk, leaning on the doorframe and folding his arms.

“Sorry, sir.” Combeferre jumps to his feet, ignoring Bahorel’s sniggering behind him. “I got carried away. Won’t happen again.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Courfeyrac laughs fondly, standing up properly and tucking his hands into his pockets. “You need more friends that don’t work for me.”

Combeferre blushes fuchsia.

“Speaking of which, Marius is waiting for us back at the tower. We should go.” He jerks his head in the direction of the door.

“Of course. Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.” He turns to Bahorel and Feuilly. “I’ll see you two around some time?”

“You will,” Bahorel replies with a cheeky grin. “I might have to drop in on you in London some time.”

He winks, and Combeferre turns even redder than before.

“You do that.”

Courfeyrac grips his arm, tighter than is perhaps necessary, and leads him out and on to the flight deck, where there’s a Quinjet waiting for them. As the doors close and the jet jerks into action, Courfeyrac relaxes into his seat.

“What did Valjean want with you this time?” Combeferre asks, flicking through his notes.

“He’s building a team, or he’s at least thinking about it. In case of emergency, he says.”

“Did you say yes?”

“I said I’d think about it. That I’d have to talk to you and Marius first.”

“Who else is he asking?” Combeferre presses, writing a few notes absently.

“He wants Marius involved, if I am. Plus a few mutants that have never worked as supers before, and I think he wants to get Bahorel interested. He said something about a few master assassins too? Which, little bit intimidating, y’know? And some supposed Korean War veterans, too. I’m not sure how that works, but I’m curious.”

“So you’re going to do it.” Combeferre smiles fondly at him, looking up over his glasses at his boss. “You decided before you even left the meeting, didn’t you?”

“Might’ve done.” Courfeyrac grins sheepishly.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I mean I still need to see if Marius is interested, but I’m going to do it, I think. It’ll be fun. Keeps me busy, and out of your hair.”

“Even if it is a massive security risk.” Combeferre rolls his eyes, getting to his feet as the jet lands on the roof. “You must get some sick pleasure from making me worry.”

“No, I just want to help people,” Courfeyrac rushes to answer as he follows Combeferre out of the jet and into the top floor of the tower. “My dad did so much damage when he still ran this firm and you know I’m only trying to fix it.”

“I know. I was joking.” Combeferre knocks their shoulders together.

“I still maintain that the only good thing he ever did was hire you as my assistant when we were teenagers,” Courfeyrac grins.

“Mm,” Combeferre smiles, unlocking the door with his key card and walking into the kitchen to start the coffee machine. “You’d be lost without me.”

“I would,” Courfeyrac laughs, following him through. “You’re a godsend.”

“Like that’s news to anyone.” Marius’s voice rises from across in the sitting room. The other two men jump and look up to stare at him. “Combeferre is a gift to this company, everyone knows that.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, Marius, how the hell did you get in here?” Combeferre skirts around the kitchen counter to stand in front of the other man. “This is a high security building and the fact that you just _walked in_ is slightly worrying.”

“Courf gave me a key card the other week.” Marius looks between them both. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Combeferre purses his lips and folds his arms, turning to Courfeyrac with a displeased expression on his face. “You little shit.”

“I meant to tell you!” Courfeyrac leaps to his own defence, jumping over the counter to stand beside Combeferre and cling at his arm. “But then I was busy and you were busy and I just… Forgot.”

“The struggles of a disgustingly wealthy superhero.” Combeferre rolls his eyes affectionately, prising Courfeyrac’s fingers from his arm. “And on that note, actually, Marius, he needs to talk to you.”

“What about?” Marius perks up then, sitting up properly on the sofa and straightening his uniform.

“President Valjean is forming a team. Something about protecting Europe when it’s most in need. He wants us in.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I said I’d ask you,” Courfeyrac replies, dropping down on to the sofa beside Marius. “Since your entire status as a superhero kind of relies on me.”

“No need to be so smug about it,” Marius laughs. “I wear your suits, you don’t own the ‘Protector’ name.”

“I know, and I don’t want it. You know I think it’s shit,” Courfeyrac jokes in response, reclining back on the sofa and spreading his arms across the back. “I want to know if you’re in.”

“Oh, what the hell.” Marius shrugs. “Sure, why not. Has to be more fun than the day job.”

“What, touring schools and opening shopping centres not your idea of fun?” Courfeyrac smirks bitingly.

“Not exactly, no,” Marius smiles. “Hardly living the Air Force dream over here. Which reminds me, actually; Combeferre, a word?”

Combeferre looks up from where he’d been busying himself in the kitchen and pretending not to listen.

“Of course.” Combeferre nods, gesturing to the lab that Courfeyrac keeps just off the kitchen and allowing Marius to lead the way. “What is it?”

“You haven’t told him,” Marius says sternly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against one of the workbenches.

“Told him what?” Combeferre replies with an unsteady frown.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Combeferre.” Marius’s frown deepens. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“No,” Combeferre replies tersely. “No, I haven’t told him. And I’m not sure I’m going to any time soon. He’ll worry, or he’ll try and stop me, and I don’t have time for that. I don’t want him to have to worry about me.”

“You worry about him, don’t you?”

“I’ve lost years of my life worrying about that man.” Combeferre laughs weakly, fingers twisting in the sleeves of his sweater. “I wouldn’t want him to have to do the same."

“You should tell him, though. It’s only fair.”

“I’m never at risk in the same way that he is. Not really.”

“You use his technology, Ferre. He’s going to notice sooner or later. You have the same repulsor rays as both of us.”

“He doesn’t read the papers unless it’s about him. He isn’t going to find out. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you told Valjean today that you’re not a super. When he finds out you lied to him, he’s not going to be happy.”

“How do you know that?” Combeferre rounds on him.

“He called and asked me about you. I kept your cover, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

“If he didn’t believe me, then why didn’t he just read my mind and check?”

“That’s not his style.” Marius shrugs offhandedly. “He’s a very trusting man.”

“If this is your way of telling me to tell both Courfeyrac and Valjean that I’m a super, that I’m Aegis, then it’s not going to work. I’m not on Courfeyrac’s radar and while I may be on Valjean’s, if he wants me for S.H.I.E.L.D. then he can ask me himself,” Combeferre snaps gruffly.

Marius says nothing and keeps his expression firmly neutral.

“Can I ask you something?” He says after a long moment of silence.

“Go ahead.”

“If he asked you to stop, would you?”

“No. I wouldn’t. While both him and his opinion are important to me, so is looking after the innocent people in this country. I couldn’t pick one over the other,” Combeferre replies after a moment, holding eye contact with Marius as he speaks.

“I see,” Marius responds carefully. “I know my opinion may mean little to you, but please, consider telling him.”

Combeferre nods stiffly and leads Marius out of the room.

“I should be getting off,” Marius announces when they return, Courfeyrac having taken up office in the kitchen and begun tampering with the toaster.

“I’ll see you out, Wing Commander,” Combeferre says, ushering Marius to the elevator.

When Marius shakes his hand and pats his shoulder as he says his goodbyes, he leans in to Combeferre’s ear to mutter, “Please, think about what I said.”

Combeferre does think about it, all the way back up to the fifty-ninth floor, and walks out of the elevator with a new sense of decisiveness in his step.

“Everything alright?” Courfeyrac looks up from the innards of the toaster when he hears the elevator doors open.

“Yeah. Marius just wanted a word about S.W.O.R.D. since we’re meeting with them soon.”

“Oh, okay.”

“What, exactly, are you doing to the toaster?”

“It burnt my toast.” He gestures at the stack of charred bread beside him. “This is revenge.”

“Right. Obviously. What else would it be.” Combeferre rolls his eyes and watches as Courfeyrac jabs at some wires with a screwdriver. “Why don’t you just buy a new one?”

“That’s admitting defeat.”

“Oh, of course it is. How stupid of me.”

Courfeyrac looks up from the electrics and catches the affectionate smile on Combeferre’s face and returns it without thinking. They stand like that for longer than either of them would care to admit, on either side of the counter just smiling stupidly at each other.

Courfeyrac eventually returns to his prodding at the toaster and Combeferre moves to fuss over the coffee machine. They work in companionable silence for what feels like hours, until Combeferre clears his throat.

“Courfeyrac?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Fire away,” Courfeyrac replies, but when Combeferre glances over at him, he’s still poking and prodding at the toaster in front of him. He hesitates, fingers curling around his third mug of coffee of the night.

“Actually, it’s nothing. Never mind.” He shakes his head and drinks the last of his coffee in a few quick mouthfuls. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay.” Courfeyrac frowns, watching as he sets his mug in the sink and makes for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Combeferre smiles weakly at him.

As Courfeyrac watches him go, he can’t help but shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

 

When Combeferre wakes in the morning, it’s early enough that the sun is barely breaking through his curtains and he groans, fumbling for his glasses on his bedside table. He, or rather, Aegis, has an early meeting with Musichetta from S.W.O.R.D. today and he can’t afford to be even a minute late.

He rummages through his wardrobe, between his suits and ties and jeans, for his suit. He has it stowed near the back, between a dark grey suit he never wears and a brown corduroy one his mother bought him way back when he first started his internship here.

His suit isn’t especially subtle, he knows that, given that it’s all powder blue and silver and gleams worryingly brightly under any sort of light. And then there’s the giant A plastered on his chest.

He puts in his contacts first, even though he hates wearing them, because it’s really rather impractical to try and fight crime with glasses on. The trousers are next, pale blue and made from Courfeyrac’s trademark breathable Kevlar blend, so trusted that he even uses it in his own suits when he can. His shirt matches, the sleeves long enough that they hang over to the middle of his palms. The belt and the boots come next, silver and ostentatious. The belt is a precaution, more than anything, filled with holstered guns and tiny first aid packs in case of absolute emergencies. The gloves are next and are pulled on with an air of finality, the repulsor rays set in the palm in a way identical to Courfeyrac’s Tomcat suits, something he’s surprised the media haven’t latched on to yet.

The mask is last, as always, and he lifts the strip of blue fabric up and over his eyes, fastening it firmly behind his head.

He sneaks out, feeling more than a little guilty about leaving Courfeyrac asleep on the kitchen counter, where he’d obviously crashed last night after failing to successfully fix the toaster. He’s drooling on the counter and Combeferre smiles warmly at him, dropping a careless, affectionate kiss on his forehead as he passes.

He exits out on to the helipad and jumps.

London is crisp in the morning, Combeferre notes as he glides aimlessly between the buildings. Commuters and schoolchildren are running around beneath him, it still being too early in the day for most tourists to have begun their explorations of the city yet. He’s meeting Musichetta by The Serpentine so he skirts his way to Hyde Park, getting lower and lower in the air until he spots her and comes to a gentle stop beside her.

She is not a subtle woman.

Standing at least six feet tall in impossibly tight, bright red knee high boots, Musichetta is an imposing figure on the bank of The Serpentine. Her dark skin almost glows in the morning light and her hair, thick and natural, billows from her head where it’s held away from her face with a matching red headband.

“Aegis,” she says with a wry smile, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Musichetta.” Combeferre shakes her hand and smiles back at her.

“The S.W.O.R.D. ship is waiting for us. Come, before we attract unsavoury attention.” She links their arms together and they take off from the ground in unison. She guides him to a jet that takes them to the S.W.O.R.D. ship where it orbits the earth among satellites and stars.

“Do you have dealings with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” She asks as their jet docks on to the ship.

“Not exactly,” Combeferre replies with an offhand shrug. “If they want me, they can approach me, but I don’t intend to go to them first.”

“Ah.” She purses her lips. “I have two of their agents on board. They’ve been recruited as part of President Valjean’s new initiative. I was rather hoping you’d be able to help them get acquainted.”

“I can take them to the helicarrier and get them settled, if that’s what you’re asking me to do. I have a few friends there that would be happy to help,” Combeferre tells her, thinking of Bahorel and Feuilly.

“That would be appreciated, yes.” She smiles. “Your associates wouldn’t happen to be Protector and Tomcat, would they?”

“No, actually. While we _are_ all friends, they’re not who I was thinking of.”

“I thought you must know each other,” she continues with a sly smile, leading him through twisting and turning corridors and foyers. “You all use the same technology. Do you know Courfeyrac and Marius personally?”

“Yes.” Combeferre reaches up and slides his mask away from his face. “I’m Combeferre. Courfeyrac’s head of security, right hand man, and guardian angel.”

“Ah, I’ve seen you before. I thought I recognised that smile.” She barks out a laugh. “You’re the one that’s always next to Courfeyrac at his press releases and events, aren’t you? You run his life.”

“With an iron fist,” Combeferre smirks. “No, as far as everyone’s concerned, I’m just his head of security. Realistically, I’m his personal assistant and vice-president of the firm and just about everything in between.”

“And does he know you’re Aegis?”

“Not exactly,” Combeferre admits sheepishly. Musichetta raises an eyebrow at him.

“I won’t ask.” She huffs a laugh. “Anyway, these are the agents I wanted you to meet. Combeferre, this is Joly and Bossuet. Bossuet and Joly, this is Combeferre.”

He looks up to see a tiny Korean man in front of him in tight blue lycra with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo emblazoned all over him, dwarfed by the huge South African standing beside him with mechanical wings folded tight on his back.

“Hi,” the smaller man says with a restrained wave. “Joly. I can phase through things. Erm, mutant and proud.”

“Bossuet. Ex-rescue paratrooper, current ‘alternative flight’ specialist.” He grins cheekily, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “Pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure.”

Combeferre shakes both of their hands and grins back. He’s going to like these two, he can tell.

 

When Courfeyrac wakes several hours later, he finds himself a little bit stuck to the kitchen counter. He jerks himself upright, stretching out the crick in his neck and the ache in his arms and legs, and shouts over the intercom for Combeferre.

There’s no reply.

He frowns to himself, resisting the urge to pout, and heads for the elevator to Combeferre’s room. He knows he shouldn’t be snooping around, and yet when the doors open and Combeferre isn’t there, he can’t help himself.

He checks the en suite bathroom and inside the wardrobe just to be sure, then gets off at every floor on his way back up the building to his office. He boots up his vast collection of computers and fires Combeferre a quick text.

**_[Courfeyrac 13:04]_ ** _Where are you? Everything okay??? Text me xxx_

He flicks through a few news websites for lack of anything better to do, pausing to read an article on the Metro that briefly grabs his attention. Something about a local superhero meeting with S.W.O.R.D. agents in the city centre this morning to much public interest. He can’t really bring himself to care.

He’s resorted to watching cat videos by the time he has the presence of mind to text Marius.

**_[Courfeyrac 14:12]_ ** _Hey have you heard from Combeferre today? He’s not home and he didn’t leave a note_

**_[Courfeyrac 14:13]_ ** _I’m worried he always tells me when he’s going somewhere :((((_

**_[Marius 14:22]_ ** _Courf I’m at work_

**_[Courfeyrac 14:23]_ ** _So have you seen him???_

**_[Marius 14:31]_ ** _No I’m at work why on earth would he be on an air force base_

**_[Marius 14:32]_ ** _Speaking of which I have two people here who seem very eager to meet you, something about valjean’s initiative? Idk they’re French_

**_[Courfeyrac 14:35]_ ** _I don’t care rn marius have you seen Combeferre :(((_

**_[Marius 14:44]_ ** _Courfeyrac I’ve been on a plane since seven this morning, he’s not with me I promise_

**_[Marius 14:45]_ ** _He’ll be home soon I’m sure_

Courfeyrac huffs and throws his phone to the other side of the room where it clatters to the floor. He slumps in his chair with a frown on his face and thinks for a moment, before deciding to investigate President Valjean’s potential group members.

He has a list written down for him of everyone Valjean’s expressed an interest in, and figures he might as well start at the top.

Hacking into the S.H.I.E.L.D. database is easy enough, especially when you’re Courfeyrac and you’ve been coding since you were ten and hacking since you were twelve.

His first target is someone by the name of Jean Prouvaire.

Xe’s easy enough to track down, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. In every photograph and video of xem, xe looks different and not even in a remotely subtle way. In one CCTV video, dated October of 2012, xe has pale freckled skin and bright ginger hair, braided delicately with flowers. But then in a photograph dated November of the same year, xe appears to be a tall, dark skinned person with a messy bun of dreadlocks on xyr head.

To say Courfeyrac is confused is an understatement.

He reads further and delves deeper, discovering that xe’s originally from a tiny village in the Netherlands but xe has been on the move for the last five years. He’s nearly at the end of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s exhaustive information on xem when he finally reads it.

_Born 1993, currently believed to be twenty one years old. Registered as mutant around 1995 when xe first began exhibiting traits of shape shifting ability._

Courfeyrac stares at the screen for a moment, and then grins stupidly to himself. 

Suddenly, he can’t wait to meet the rest of the team.

 

Combeferre returns to earth after several hours on the S.W.O.R.D. ship getting to know Joly and Bossuet. They’re both lovely, and he’s pre-emptively called both Feuilly and Bahorel to let them know that new arrivals are coming and to be nice to them.

Which is when he notices the slew of missed calls and texts from Courfeyrac. He curses under his breath and opens the lone text he’s received from Marius.

**_[Marius 15:20]_ ** _Did you have that meeting with Musichetta today? Courfeyrac woke up and you weren’t there and he was worried. You didn’t tell him about Aegis did you?_

Combeferre swears out loud then.

He sneaks back into his room through the window he’d luckily left open and changes, throwing most of his costume into a briefcase before he jumps out of the window and flies back to the ground floor.

He changes his shoes hurriedly and lets himself in, using the few minutes in the elevator to make himself look presentable and not like he’s been on a spaceship all day.

Courfeyrac is in his lab, still poking around through his future teammates’ information. When Combeferre walks in, Joly’s face is on the screen.

“Combeferre!” Courfeyrac exclaims when he looks up from his screens and spots him across the room. He jumps up from his seat and runs over to embrace the other man, arms tight around his waist. “Where’ve you been? I was worried.”

“Sorry, I’ve had emergency meetings all day,” Combeferre lies seamlessly. “I’ve not been able to answer my phone. I meant to tell you before I left, but you were asleep –I didn’t want to wake you and I forgot to leave you a note. I won’t do it again. I didn’t mean for you to worry.”

Courfeyrac squeezes him impossibly tighter.

“Just, don’t do it again, okay?”

“I won’t. Promise.” Combeferre finally drops his briefcase then and wraps his arms around Courfeyrac, hugging him firmly.

They stand there for longer than either of them would care to admit, long enough that they’re breathing in sync and Combeferre has had time to commit the smell of Courfeyrac’s shampoo to memory.

When they finally separate, Combeferre smiles lopsidedly at the other man.

“So, what have you been doing with yourself all day?” he asks, nudging his briefcase out of the way and jumping to sit on one of the spare desks in the room so that he can see Courfeyrac’s multitude of computer screens.

“I’ve been investigating my future teammates,” Courfeyrac beams, pleased with himself. “They’re really interesting, actually.”

“You couldn’t have waited until you meet them all at the weekend?”

“You know how impatient I am,” Courfeyrac chuckles, sitting down in his desk chair and spinning to look at his screens. “So I couldn’t help myself. And there’s mutants involved, come _on_.”

He clicks a few things and Joly’s face appears on one screen, and the face of someone he doesn’t recognise pops up on another.

“Prouvaire can shapeshift,” he says with glee, spinning himself around to grin at Combeferre. “Which is the _coolest_ , as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh god, you’re going to nerd out as soon as you get on that helicarrier, aren’t you?” Combeferre laughs, soft and fondly, and runs a hand through his already messy hair.

“Psht, no.” Courfeyrac leans back in his chair and scoffs. “…Okay, maybe a little. But come on, I’ve never met a mutant before!”

“You’re a dork,” Combeferre says with a gentle quirk of his lips. “And I feel like I should get you away from those screens. Come on, lets go make dinner and watch a film.”

“If we must.” Courfeyrac fakes a grudging sigh but there’s no real bite behind it, and he shuts down his computers and follows Combeferre to the kitchen.

They make dinner in the same way they always do, weaving around each other and throwing ingredients and utensils at each other from opposite sides of the room with indie music playing quietly in the background. Today they’re making a recipe that’s been in Courfeyrac’s family for years, from back when his family still lived in Italy.

It strikes Combeferre suddenly and out of the blue quite how _domestic_ this scene it when he’s handing Courfeyrac the salt and turning to lean around him and grab a spoon to stir the pasta. He freezes for a moment before he shakes his head, filing it away in his brain to deal with later when he’s ready for it.

Courfeyrac presents him with a plate of hot, fresh pasta twenty minutes later and ushers him into the adjoining sitting room, where he’s set up _Amélie_ on the television. It’s enough to make Combeferre smile to himself.

“You know my weakness,” he says as they settle themselves on the sofa, curled up with their food. Courfeyrac grins at him and presses play.

“Of course I do. You love Audrey Tautou films, especially after you’ve had a long day. When you came in today I could tell you’d had a really busy day so I thought you’d like it.” Courfeyrac smiles almost shyly over at him, and Combeferre’s cheeks redden.

“I do, thank you,” Combeferre replies, pushing his food around his plate to avoid meeting his eyes. “I… really appreciate it, actually.”

Courfeyrac’s beam is radiant and Combeferre’s heart swells knowing he put it there.

He spends the rest of the night resolutely ignoring the three words that died on his lips. Even when Courfeyrac moves their empty plates on to the coffee table so he can tuck himself under Combeferre’s arm and cuddle up against him.

The film ends and neither of them can bring themselves to move, so they let _Dirty Pretty Things_ start and settle themselves down to watch it. Courfeyrac doesn’t even laugh when Combeferre starts quoting along with it and instead starts playing with the hem of his sweater. Combeferre barely even registers that he’s tangled a hand in Courfeyrac’s dark curls and is twisting his fingers and scratching at his friend’s scalp.

Courfeyrac falls asleep first, his head tucked in close against Combeferre’s chest, lulled into slumber by the soft rhythmic beating of his heart. Combeferre smiles at his sleeping form, noting that Courfeyrac looks at his most peaceful when he’s asleep, before carefully pulling his phone from his pocket.

**_[Combeferre 23:42]_ ** _Hey, are you and/or Bahorel free tomorrow? I could use some advice._

**_[Feuilly 23:46]_ ** _Yeah, of course. Neither of us have meetings planned if you want us to come down to London._

**_[Combeferre 23:48]_ ** _That’d be great, yeah. Courf’s got a meeting with the Air Force about Marius in the morning but we’re both free after that. Just text me and I’ll find you._

**_[Feuilly 23:53]_ ** _Sure, we’ll come down. Hope everything’s okay._

**_[Combeferre 23:55]_ ** _Yeah, we’re both fine. Just, things. That’s all. See you tomorrow._

**_[Feuilly 23:57]_ ** _Okay. Have a good night. See you._

Combeferre sets his phone down on the arm of the sofa and holds perfectly still as Courfeyrac snuffles and shifts in his sleep. He smiles softly, presses a kiss to the top of his head and lets himself fall asleep too.

 

Combeferre wakes up first in the morning, as he tends to, but he stays still and cards his fingers through Courfeyrac’s hair until he stretches and yawns, catlike and lucid, leaning his head back so he can look up at Combeferre.

“Morning,” he says blearily, curls splayed against Combeferre’s shoulder. “We don’t have to do anything today, do we?”

“Unfortunately, you’ve got a meeting with Marius and the RAF this morning. I’ll go with you, of course, but then Bahorel and Feuilly have requested a meeting with me this afternoon.”

“Okay. Hey, do you want to get lunch after we’ve met Marius? There’s this noodle bar in Soho I’ve been meaning to try and I’ve not had chance yet.”

“Sure.” Combeferre smiles down at him. “But we should get a move on if we don’t want to be late to this meeting, we’ve both got to suit up.”

Courfeyrac groans and grumbles but eventually moves anyway, fumbling off to the floor that acts as his wardrobe while Combeferre hangs back and gathers his thoughts.

He really needs to talk to someone about this.

He dresses mechanically, fastens his tie without even looking at it and swaps out his contacts for his glasses without properly concentrating. 

He meets back up with Courfeyrac on the roof, where the other man is waiting in a crisp dark blue suit, with two mechanised briefcases in his hands. One is recognisable as his Tomcat suit, folded down into its compacted form –the main giveaway is the cat ears that pop up from the top, either side of the handle. The other, Combeferre assumes, must be Marius’s new Protector suit. It’s an obnoxious combination of bright blue and polished chrome and gleams in the sunlight.

“Come on. We have to get to Waddington in half an hour –wouldn’t want to be late.” Combeferre ushers Courfeyrac into the waiting helicopter with a firm hand on the small of his back. “Marius is already there. He’s just emailed.”

Both the flight up the country and the meeting that follows are intensely boring, as far as Combeferre is concerned. Even though both he and Courfeyrac were cleared for air base access since they were nineteen and sixteen respectively, Combeferre always manages to find out there’s some new piece of paperwork to sign or a Commodore who’s never seen either of them before and demands identification.

Marius spends the whole meeting a combination of distracted and gently confused, and he’s jittery even when Courfeyrac is demonstrating the virtues of the briefcase suit.

“Everything okay, Wing Commander?” Combeferre asks as they leave the meeting room and head back to their helicopter.

“Yeah. I’m fine, I just –I think I’ve met someone? I think I might be a little in love with her. 

“Ooh, what’s her name?” Courfeyrac asks excitedly, all but breaking into a skip as he grins at the other man.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know. But, um, I think she tried to kill me?” Marius admits sheepishly, his already dark cheeks flushing darker still. “I mean, I’d have an arrow in my leg if Air Marshall Myriel hadn’t warned me.”

“You sure know how to pick your partners, Marius.” Courfeyrac laughs outright and in his friend’s face as he clambers back onto the helicopter. “Let me know if you find her.”

“Try not to get killed in the process, though.” Combeferre smirks as he follows Courfeyrac into the helicopter.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Courfeyrac smiles, patting Marius on the shoulder. “I’ll see you on the helicarrier this weekend.”

“Yeah, see you soon. Safe flight.” Marius shakes both of their hands and waves them off with a quick salute before jogging back to the base.

“Why are we friends with that idiot?” Courfeyrac laughs affectionately as the helicopter judders into life.

“Hey, don’t look at me. He was your friend first,” Combeferre replies, nudging Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “I believe I was promised noodles?”

“Yeah, you were, you dork.” Courfeyrac presses their thighs together.

They spend the rest of the flight talking about everything and nothing, from Courfeyrac’s ever-growing excitement about meeting the rest of Valjean’s dream team, to how well the suit Combeferre’s wearing fits him. It’s more than enough to make him blush.

They run into a few press photographers on their way through the city, having decided to walk rather than contend with the Tube in the summer heat, and Courfeyrac is all smiles as always. Combeferre reacts as he usually does, with a forced smile and an awkward step until Courfeyrac throws an arm around his waist and guides him through.

Lunch is _fun_ , Combeferre is forced to admit. Not that he thought it wouldn’t be, but there’s something about exchanging anecdotes and kicking at each others feet under the table that’s oddly relaxing.

“We never get to do this anymore.” Courfeyrac hums as he sets his spoon down.

“What, get lunch together?”

“Yeah, that, but I meant go out. I’m always busy or you’re busy or we can never be bothered and just end up cooking at home –not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Courfeyrac rambles on, waving his hands around wildly. “But I wish we could go out more.”

“So let’s go out more, then.” Combeferre shrugs, trying desperately to ignore the thrumming in his chest because _no, he doesn’t mean it like that, stop that fluttering this instant._

“Okay then. Nobu, tomorrow night, nine thirty sharp. Don’t be late. I expect you to be in a suit.”

“Okay, you’re on,” Combeferre smirks in response with an almost disbelieving laugh.

“Great. I’ll pick you up outside your room at nine.”

“Wonderful. Sounds like a plan.” Combeferre nods, stopping himself from saying ‘it’s a date’ because it’s not, _it’s not_.

“Aren’t you meant to be meeting Feuilly and Bahorel?” Courfeyrac says after a few moments of silence, where they sit and grin at each other and do little else.

“ _Shit_ , yes, yeah I am, Feuilly texted half an hour ago to say they were landing, crap.” Combeferre looks at his watch and leaps to his feet, fumbling to pull on his suit jacket while Courfeyrac just laughs at him. “I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah, okay. Have fun!”

He can still hear Courfeyrac laughing as he runs out of the restaurant and down the street.

It takes him nearly half an hour to get to St. James’s Park, and when he arrives, Bahorel and Feuilly are leaning at the entrance way and looking particularly smug.

“Nice of you to join us,” Bahorel snorts. “Can’t imagine what you’ve been doing that could make you an hour late, Mr. Punctual.”

“Leave him alone.” Feuilly rolls his eyes and bats at his companion’s arm. It takes Combeferre a moment to realise that this is the first time he’s ever seen the man in anything other than his uniform or a suit; the slightly dishevelled chinos and plaid shirt suit him well, and the midday sun highlights the glow of his freckles and his mop of ginger hair. “You said you needed advice?”

“Let’s walk,” Combeferre says, taking his jacket off again and hooking it over his arm. The other two men fall into step beside him, and they’re well into the park before any of them speak again.

“So what’s wrong?” Feuilly asks with a frown pinching his features. “You seemed on edge yesterday.”

Combeferre stops. He runs a hand through his hair, knotting his fingers in sandy brown strands.

“How do you know if you’re in love?” he asks quietly. The other men look up in surprise, first at him and then quickly at each other.

“How do you mean?” Bahorel asks carefully, pulling his sunglasses up and resting them on the top of his head.

“I think I’m in love. But I’ve never been in love before, so I don’t really know. I was hoping you might.”

“How do they make you feel?” Feuilly asks, deadly serious, moving to stand in front of Combeferre and folding his arms.

“Well, I’ve known him for years and we do almost everything together. When he smiles at me it’s like the _sun_ and all I can do is smile back, and he makes me laugh all the time, even when he shouldn’t –especially when he shouldn’t. He knows what to do when I’m sad or if I’ve had a bad day and he can always tell when I need to vent or if I just need a hug. I can’t imagine my life without him, I barely remember what it was like before I met him and I don’t even know how but I think I might’ve always felt like this? Oh, god, how have I just realised this?”

“Yep. You’re in love,” Bahorel replies after a beat of silence, a self-satisfied smile on his face. He buries his hands in the pockets of his board shorts and rocks backwards and forwards on his feet. “With Courfeyrac, if I had to guess.”

“You’ve only just realised?” Feuilly laughs, a fond look on his face. “I thought you’d known for years and just never done anything.”

“No, no, I only realised yesterday. That’s why I texted you.” Combeferre shakes his head, twisting his hands in his suit jacket. “We were making dinner together and I’d had a long day and he’d put on my favourite film and he fell asleep on my chest and I just wanted to kiss him. And we keep stopping to smile at each other and it should be weird but it’s not because it’s _him_ and oh shit, I’m in love with my boss, aren’t I? _Shit_ , I’ve been in love with my boss for years, haven’t I? _Fuck._ ”

Bahorel bursts out laughing, an amused glow catching the top of his brown cheeks.

“Yeah, I think you might have been. Well noticed,” Feuilly says, at least having the decency to cover his mouth before he starts laughing. “But hey, that’s just reminded me. Valjean has requested your presence at the initiative meeting this Saturday. Well, not you specifically, but Aegis. He thinks you’ll be an asset to the team.”

“No one rescues tiny fluffy kittens from trees quite like you do,” Bahorel sniggers.

“Alright, fine. I’m in,” Combeferre replies, looking between the two of them. “Shit, Courfeyrac’s going to be there. He doesn’t know I’m Aegis, I’ve never found the right moment to tell him.”

“That sounds like it’s going to be a fun conversation,” Feuilly winces. “I don’t envy you for that one.”

“Yeah, thanks. I should try and tell him tomorrow; we’re going out to dinner.”

“Oh, is it security status update time already?”

“No.”

“Staff reshuffle, then?”

“No, we’re just going out. No reason.” Combeferre shrugs. “At lunch today we realised that we haven’t had that much time just to hang out lately, so we’re planning on changing that. All we talk about lately is work.”

“So you’re going on a date,” Bahorel deadpans. He laughs with a wry smile and pulls his sunglasses back over his eyes.

“Not a date,” Combeferre grumbles, glaring pointedly at the other man. “Not unless he wants it to be. Which he probably doesn’t.”

“You know what you should do?” Feuilly interjects, reaching up to clap a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder. He squints up through the sun and his tumbling ginger curls to meet Combeferre’s gaze.

“What?”

“Actually _talk to him_.” Feuilly rolls his eyes. “About Aegis, about how you feel about him, everything that you need to. You’re both adults, you can do this.”

Combeferre opens his mouth to reply but finds himself cut off by his phone ringing very loudly. He tugs it from his pocket and answers it without looking at the screen.

“Hello, you’ve reached de Courfeyrac Inc., this is Combeferre speaking, how can I be of assistance?”

“Well, that’s adorable.”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre laughs weakly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering when you’d be home. I’m bored.”

“We’re nearly done here, so I’ll be back soon. I’m sure you can find something to keep yourself busy.”

“Mm, I can try. Don’t be long, okay? I need help testing these new suit components.”

“I won’t be. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you.”

The line goes dead and Combeferre pulls his phone away from his ear and smiles to himself.

“That was precious.” Bahorel is cackling at him again and Combeferre glowers back at him.

“Shut up.”

“You should go.” Feuilly is smiling smugly too and Combeferre kind of wants to hit their heads together. “Can’t leave him hanging like that, can you?”

“I hate you both,” Combeferre replies with a fond laugh, but he’s pulling on his jacket and making to leave anyway. “I’ll see you at the weekend?”

“Yeah, see you then. Tell him about Aegis!” Feuilly yells as Combeferre starts walking away.

Combeferre walks home with determination in his stride.

“I need you to shoot me,” Courfeyrac announces upon Combeferre’s arrival into his workshop.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I need you to shoot me.”

“No, I heard you.” Combeferre frowns at him, throwing his jacket over the back of a chair. “I just don’t understand why you need me to shoot you –you’ve built robots with that exact purpose.”

“It’s more fun when it’s another person. More erratic.” Courfeyrac grins, pleased with himself, and knocks his fist against the chest plate he’s wearing. “Guns first, then on to repulsors.”

A loaded pistol skids across the floor and comes to a stop at his feet. Combeferre bends to pick it up and clicks the safety off, readying himself to shoot.

“If you die, I get the Jaguar.”

“The Audi.”

“The Jaguar,” Combeferre presses, a joking smile on his face.

“Alright, fine. If I die, you get the Jaguar, but I’m not going to die because I am a _genius_. Now shoot me.”

Combeferre shrugs, raises the gun and empties it into Courfeyrac’s chest. The bullets all bounce off and skitter somewhere across the floor. There’s barely even a scratch in the paintwork of the metal.

“Alright, I’m impressed.” Combeferre sets the gun down on table and picks up the two repulsor gloves Courfeyrac has laid out. He slides them on and lunges carefully into a braced position, targeting precisely before firing four shots in quick succession.

There’s a bigger dent this time, after the smoke and sparks subside, but it’s still less than Combeferre was expecting. He moves closer then, gloves still on, and runs his fingers over the grooves in the metal.

“No Jaguar for you this time, then,” Courfeyrac grins. “It’s coated vibranium with inlaid Kevlar. All but indestructible. I’ve been working on it since I got home.”

“Very effective.” Combeferre hums in approval, knocking his fist gently against the metal. “Better than your current suit, in any case. That thing dents when anyone so much as touches it with their bare hands.”

“I just need to synthesise it into a suit now,” Courfeyrac says, looking rather pleased with himself and pulling the chest plate away to inspect it himself. “Want to help?”

“Sure.” Combeferre shrugs, taking his tie off and unbuttoning his shirtsleeves in order to roll them up to his elbows. “What do you want?”

“Pass me tools as I work?” Courfeyrac replies, looking over his shoulder as he bends over his desk and begins poring over a large pile of schematics. “And you could entertain me with your sparkling wit and conversation?”

“Don’t I always?” Combeferre smirks, digging around in Courfeyrac’s extensive tool drawers for one of the plasma cutters. He places it in Courfeyrac’s waiting hand and hoists himself up on to a table.

“How was your meeting?” Courfeyrac asks, collecting a protective face mask from the wall above him, putting it on and turning on the cutter.

“It was fine. They had a message from Valjean for me.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Not especially. He just wants me to work on this initiative of his.”

“Oh, which one?”

_Tell him._

“It’s not an important one. Just something he’s thinking of setting up in the next few months.”

“Interesting,” Courfeyrac clicks his tongue a few times, “I’m sure I’ll hear about it then.”

_Tell him tell him tell him tell him._

Feuilly’s words run circles through his thoughts.

“No doubt you will. Valjean trusts you too much.”

Courfeyrac laughs melodically and turns back to his workbench, pulling the mask over his face and getting to work.

He ends up working until well past midnight and into the early hours of the morning, when Combeferre makes him stop for food. By then he’s managed to construct the entire torso and has begun work on the arms and gloves.

“Can’t you feed me so I can carry on working?” Courfeyrac whines with the most overdramatic pout Combeferre has seen him pull in recent years.

“You’re an incredibly messy eater.” Combeferre smiles fondly, but he complies anyway and picks up a hefty spoonful of kedgeree. “Open up.”

Courfeyrac does, and Combeferre pushes the spoon into his mouth.

“Sometimes I swear you’re actually four, not _twenty four_ ,” Combeferre laughs. Courfeyrac beams cheekily at him. “I’m sure you can manage the rest yourself. Besides, you _do_ need the break. If you carry on working like this you’ll be achy and grumpy in the morning.”

Courfeyrac pouts at him again, but Combeferre only raises an eyebrow at him.

“Fine.” He huffs playfully, taking the bowl and sliding his chair over to the empty table. “But only if you eat with me.”

“That I can live with.” Combeferre smiles, picks up his own bowl and takes a seat opposite him.

They retire to bed for the night after that, when Combeferre reminds Courfeyrac that they’re meeting with S.W.O.R.D. in two days time and that he should at least attempt to regulate his sleep schedule before then. Courfeyrac hugs him goodnight when they separate in the elevator and Combeferre heads off to his own room.

He changes into his pyjamas –a pair of worn, grey tracksuit pants and an old tee from his time in his university’s LGBT+ society that’s grown baggy and thinner with age.

He looks at himself in the mirror opposite the bed for a long time. It’s not something he does often, nor does he find it particularly enjoyable –looking at himself for too long only leads to him scrutinising himself.

He starts doing it now, leaning into the mirror and staring into his own green-grey eyes and frowning. His hair flops over his forehead and around his glasses in a way he’s never been particularly fond of and there’s two days worth of stubble peppering across his cheeks. He’s starting to get wrinkles, around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, especially when he smiles –his mother would have said it makes him look distinguished, if she could see him now.

He pulls back and sighs heavily, his shoulders dropping as he fingers at the hem of his shirt. He looks up at himself again and opens his mouth to speak. He starts with a stutter, something he hasn’t done since he was very small, and he curses to himself.

“I’m Aegis,” he says quietly, getting used to forming the words. It’s not something he says often.

“I’m Aegis.” He repeats himself, a little louder this time, his voice a little more steady and sure. 

He says it a few more times, confidence building as he says the two words over and over again –even though it’s just to a mirror image of himself, it seems to be working. He’s no longer hesitant and stumbling when he opens his mouth, and he thinks he might be able to say it in front of Courfeyrac now.

He smiles to himself, catching his own eyes in the mirror and for the first time in years feeling a little bit confident.

 

Combeferre wakes up later than usual the following morning, full in the knowledge that neither he nor Courfeyrac has a single meeting that day. He stays in bed until a blessedly late hour, ignores all of his emails when he finally rises and doesn’t even dress to go down to the kitchen.

Courfeyrac is already there, also still in his pyjamas –or rather, a pair of bright orange boxer shorts- fumbling bleary eyed with the oven and a collection of pans and breakfast foods.

“What are you doing?” Combeferre asks with a bemused smile on his face. “I’m surprised nothing’s on fire yet.”

“I’m insulted,” Courfeyrac replies with a playful huff, cracking eggs into a frying pan. “Coffee?”

“You know me,” Combeferre responds with an easy smile, shuffling around Courfeyrac to grab some plates and begin setting the table at the breakfast bar. Courfeyrac hums along to the radio as he works, flipping bacon and grilling tomatoes cheerily.

Combeferre watches him from the table, where he’s sipping at a coffee and flicking through the morning news on Courfeyrac’s tablet. It’s all rather domestic and ridiculous, he thinks, as Courfeyrac sets two full plates down on the table before he sits down himself, still in nothing but his underwear. They eat in companionable silence, the radio playing away to itself in the background, Combeferre checking the news and his emails and Courfeyrac reading a cheap old science fiction novel.

“No meetings today?” Courfeyrac asks as he finishes eating and gets up to put their plates in the sink.

“Not a one,” Combeferre replies, deleting his last few emails before he looks up. “Free all day, for once.”

“Excellent.” Courfeyrac beams, turning on the tap and digging around for gloves in the cupboard. He whistles to himself as he washes up, Combeferre sitting in relative silence as he continues to peruse the daily news. “Films and doing nothing until tonight, then?”

“Sounds wonderful.” Combeferre smiles, locking his tablet and standing up to hitch his pyjama pants up on his hips. “Any particular films or shall we just carry on through the Netflix queue?”

“ _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ marathon, maybe?” Courfeyrac looks up from the sink where he’s intently scrubbing a pan.

“Exacerbating your crush on Renee Zellwegger are you? I suppose you’ll want to follow it up with _Chicago_ , then.” Combeferre smirks knowingly over the table at him.

“Oh, you know me so well,” Courfeyrac beams, going back to his chores.

“I should hope so.” Combeferre rolls his eyes and moves into the adjoining sitting room. “It’s been almost ten years.”

“So it has,” Courfeyrac muses, clanking a few plates together as he leans them precariously on the draining board. “To think, all this happened because I kept complaining to my father that I wanted an intern.”

“You were fourteen, Courf. You really didn’t need an intern.”

“Yeah, but my dad always had loads so I wanted one. Thought it was only fair.” Courfeyrac shrugs and peels off the washing up gloves, moving into the room and leaping over the back of the sofa to land on Combeferre’s legs.

“You were an entitled little brat, weren’t you?” Combeferre jibes good-naturedly, fumbling for the remote to press play.

“Before I met you, I guess I was, yeah.” Courfeyrac settles himself on the sofa, facing Combeferre with their legs tangled together.

“So all it takes to tame a pouty, ridiculous preteen rich kid is to bring in a less wealthy older boy with the patience of a saint,” Combeferre replies with a well-intentioned smirk. “Right. Duly noted.”

Courfeyrac scowls at him, bottom lip jutting out into an impressive pout. He kicks petulantly at Combeferre’s thigh and huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m kidding, you idiot.” Combeferre rolls his eyes and nudges their legs together. “I’m glad I took that internship. You know that.”

Courfeyrac smiles at him, soft and lopsided, and Combeferre knows that that’s his genuine, _real_ smile, not the one he pulls in public when there’s a camera in his face and news agencies reporting on his every breath.

“I’m glad I decided I needed an assistant,” Courfeyrac says quietly, searching for Combeferre’s hand and squeezing, “even if what I really wanted was a friend.”

Combeferre huffs a barely there laugh and squeezes back, twisting their fingers together shyly. Courfeyrac smiles at him again, radiant as ever, and he suddenly finds himself grateful that his dark skin won’t flush red and give him away.

“You had Marius,” Combeferre points out, swinging their joined hands and trying to convince himself it’s not too good to be true.

“Yeah, but he’s not you,” Courfeyrac replies earnestly, biting gently at his lower lip and looking up to meet Combeferre’s gaze.

“Courf,” Combeferre says quietly, willing himself not to hope even as Courfeyrac slides his free hand to cup his jaw, “ _Courf_.”

“Tell me to stop.” Courfeyrac swallows thickly. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Combeferre stays silent, taking long, steadying breaths even as Courfeyrac leans in towards him.

Despite his efforts, his breathing is shaky when Courfeyrac connects their lips but he kisses back, free hand searching for Courfeyrac’s waist to pull him closer.

Courfeyrac shifts himself, moving his legs to wrap around Combeferre’s waist and moves closer still, sliding his hands into Combeferre’s hair. Combeferre makes a muffled noise of assent and fumbles to grab for Courfeyrac’s hips, tugging him all but into his lap and kissing him firmly.

Courfeyrac moves his hands to wrap his arms around the other man’s neck, humming contentedly as Combeferre traces the lines of his hipbones with his fingers. Courfeyrac pulls away to kiss down the column of his neck and nip at his jaw line and Combeferre stifles a pleased noise in the back of his throat.

“Courf,” he says after a moment, when Courfeyrac is peppering his cheek with kisses, “what are we doing?”

Courfeyrac rocks back so that he’s perched on Combeferre’s legs.

“Am I reading this wrong? Do you not –do you not want to kiss me? Because you should’ve stopped me, oh god I’m sorry, it’s just that I, well, I spoke to Marius? And I said I wanted to talk to you because I thought you’d maybe be receptive, but he said to kiss you first? And I thought that was stupid because there are _so many ways_ that could go wrong, but then you just-”

“Courf,” Combeferre laughs fondly, effectively stopping Courfeyrac in his tirade and cupping his jaw carefully. “I like you too.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Courfeyrac beams then, cheeks dimpling and a traitorous blush barely flushing his dark cheeks. “Can I kiss you again?”

Combeferre responds by kissing him softly, smiling as their lips meet. Courfeyrac hums happily, sliding his hands to twine in Combeferre’s hair.

The film plays on forgotten in the background.

Combeferre eventually remembers the film when the credits start rolling and he pulls away with a laugh.

“We should probably talk about this, you know,” he says, stroking at the small of Courfeyrac’s back absently.

“Mm, later. Kisses and first date first, then we talk.”

“Oh, so that’s what tonight is, is it?”

“Well, I confess I might’ve had ulterior motives. I _was_ going to tell you.”

“If it makes you feel better, when I spoke to Bahorel and Feuilly they were both convinced it was going to be a date too, so I don’t think you were fooling everyone.”

“Honestly, it’s not like I was particularly subtle,” Courfeyrac grins sheepishly.

“I didn’t want to let myself hope,” Combeferre admits with a gentle shrug. Courfeyrac’s smile drops a little and he leans in to press a quick kiss to the corner of Combeferre’s mouth.

“You’re lovely, don’t be stupid.” Courfeyrac scatters kisses across his cheeks and Combeferre can’t help but let a smile quirk the corners of his mouth.

They stay there for hours, entwined in each other and exchanging soft kisses, until Courfeyrac eventually pulls himself into a sitting position with a grumble and a stretch.

“We should go get ready. Date night, you know?” He smiles, dragging himself to his feet.

“Courf, I’ve seen you when you’ve been hungover and half asleep on the floor of a sleeper train before, you really don’t need to worry about neatening yourself up,” Combeferre laughs as he pulls himself to his feet, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“I want to.” Courfeyrac pushes himself onto the balls of his feet and kisses Combeferre quickly. “I’ll see you in an hour. Wear that tie that brings out your eyes.”

And with that, he bounds off towards the elevator and disappears from view. Combeferre grins as he watches him go, reaching for his phone as he heads towards the elevator to his own room.

**_[Combeferre 20:03]_ ** _So, er, myself and Courfeyrac are perhaps a thing? We kissed a lot and we’re going out to dinner soon and I’m quietly hopeful?_

**_[Feuilly 20:05]_ ** _Ah, congratulations! Tell me everything when I see you next, yeah? Good luck on your date :)_

**_[Bahorel 20:07]_ ** _USE PROTECTION!!! ;)_

Combeferre laughs despite himself, even as he delves through his wardrobe for the one fitted suit he owns. It hugs his legs a little more than he remembers and than he’d like it to, but he knows Courfeyrac will appreciate it if nothing else. He rummages for a tie and finds the dark grey-blue one that Courfeyrac favours, and ties it carefully around his neck. He frowns at himself in the mirror, flattening his collar down and straightening the lapels of his jacket. He fiddles with his hair for a moment, running his fingers through his fringe and smoothing out its natural wave. 

He smiles weakly at his own reflection before he turns and heads back downstairs to the sitting room.

Courfeyrac is waiting for him, rocking back and forth on his feet and fiddling with the cufflinks on his sleeves.

“Hi,” he says when he looks up and spots Combeferre standing a few feet away from him. “You look good. Suits you.”

“Oh, god,” Combeferre groans. “You did not just say that.”

Courfeyrac grins cheekily, and Combeferre can’t help but kiss him.

They take a car to the restaurant, neither of them wanting to deal with the fusty heat of the underground after a day of summer sun. It also provides them with a spot of welcome anonymity, as the photographers and journalists can’t keep pace with a car, especially when it’s Courfeyrac driving.

They pull up nearby and Courfeyrac escorts Combeferre inside with a firm hand on the small of his back, as always. They manage to score a booth tucked away in one corner, away from prying eyes and windows to the main road.

And it’s good. _Nice_ , even, Combeferre would say. They sit with their thighs pressed together and their shoulders touching, hands intertwined when they’re not eating. It’s not awkward like Combeferre feared it might be and instead they spend their night theorising about Marius’s dream girl and Courfeyrac’s future teammates.

They make it back late, some time in the early hours of the morning and Courfeyrac giggles into Combeferre’s neck as they go tumbling out of the elevator and into the sitting room.

“This… This was fun,” Courfeyrac announces, his hand searching for Combeferre’s as he looks adoringly up at him. “We should do it again sometime.”

Combeferre swallows.

“We should.”

And then Courfeyrac’s crowding him against the door of the elevator and kissing him firmly, hands sliding up his chest and fumbling to untuck his shirt. Combeferre makes a startled noise before responding in kind, searching blindly for the call button behind him and shifting his hands to Courfeyrac’s waist once he finally presses it.

They stumble distractedly into the elevator, Courfeyrac pre-occupied with getting Combeferre out of his tie and jacket –with limited success, as the tie ends up fumbled with and almost pulled apart long after the jacket hits the floor. For his efforts, Combeferre has managed to get Courfeyrac’s bow tie off and his shirt unbuttoned, fingers finding purchase on his hipbones and tugging them impossibly closer together.

They hit Courfeyrac’s floor with a crash when they quite literally fall through the doors. Combeferre laughs warmly and hitches Courfeyrac higher so they can rock their hips together with a steady, gentle ease. Courfeyrac ducks down to reconnect their lips with a fond look on his face, and when Combeferre mumbles that he loves him, he means it.

They wake up in a bundle of blankets on Courfeyrac’s floor, light streaming in through the partly open blinds and shining in their eyes. Courfeyrac grumbles and stretches, catlike, arm falling around Combeferre’s neck as the older man tucks himself up beside him.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Courfeyrac kisses his forehead. Combeferre mumbles in displeasure and snuggles closer still.

“Mm, how long have you been awake?” Combeferre asks blearily, squinting up at Courfeyrac without his glasses.

“Only a minute.” Courfeyrac kisses him awake. “Breakfast sound good?”

“Breakfast sounds excellent."

Courfeyrac heads downstairs and starts cooking, gathering ingredients to make his famous breakfast frittatas. Combeferre reappears a few minutes later, half dressed and glasses askew on his face. Courfeyrac leans over the counter to kiss him.

He scrolls absently through his emails and notifications while he waits for their food to cook, but finds himself distracted by the fact that Combeferre is playing with their joined hands.

They eat quietly, in the same companionable quiet as always, Combeferre with a newspaper and Courfeyrac filtering down through his emails.

When they’re done and sitting in near silence, Courfeyrac reaches a notification from Valjean.

“Oh, hey, Valjean’s been in touch.” He hums curiously, scrolling through the message before he looks up. “They’ve got a few new members for the team.”

“Oh?” Combeferre swallows apprehensively.

“Yeah. Bahorel’s confirmed, Feuilly’s our new liaison officer -which I totally saw coming, come _on_ \- and a new person I’ve never heard of. Aegis. Never even seen them before, actually. I should look them up.”

Combeferre hesitates, fingers tightening for a moment before he looks up.

“About that.”

“What?"

“The Aegis guy.” Combeferre meets his eyes. “I’m not sure you need to do all that much research.”

“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac’s expression pinches into a frown.

“Er, I’m. I’m Aegis,” Combeferre fumbles and stutters over his words and looks up over his glasses at Courfeyrac.

“…What?”

“Aegis. Your new teammate. So, hello.” Combeferre repeats himself with a sheepish smile.

“You’re a superhero. You’re telling me you’re a superhero.”

“…Yes?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Courfeyrac retorts, backing away like he’s offended. “Christ, Combeferre.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to, but it’s –it’s hard. I know you’d only get upset and stressed if you knew and I didn’t want you to have to do that, you don’t need to.”

“So what do you do? Throw on a little fabric suit and parade around fighting crime and saving little old ladies?”

“Says the man who does just that,” Combeferre huffs with an uncharacteristic glare. “And it’s not like that. I look after people. When you and the others are destroying buildings and going after supervillains, I follow after you and _clean up_.”

“This city doesn’t need any more vigilantes, Combeferre.”

“ _You’re_ a vigilante, you hypocrite! Christ.”

“Don’t,” Courfeyrac almost growls, rounding on Combeferre with a pained expression. “You can’t carry on. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

“And what, you’ll worry about me?” Combeferre spits. “You mean like I do every _single_ time you go on a mission?”

Courfeyrac falls silent. Combeferre stares at him for a long moment, fingers knotting in the sleeves of his cardigan.

“Right. I’ll go then, shall I?” Combeferre says tersely, moving past Courfeyrac towards the elevator. “You clearly need time to process this, and I’m not sure I want to be around for that.”

“Ferre, wait-” Courfeyrac trails after him.

“Courf. Maybe it’s for the best that we both have some space,” Combeferre interrupts with a firm voice. “You need to think about this, so do I, and if it turns out that you’re not comfortable with it, then I’ll go. But I won’t stop being Aegis.”

He steps into the elevator and Courfeyrac nods, jaw set and eyes wetter than he’d like to admit.

Combeferre packs in a hurry, essentials the only thing he finds himself remembering as he throws a few suits and his costume into a large overnight bag. He grabs his last few emergency items and reaches for his phone with shaking hands.

He doesn’t know where to go.

He thinks briefly of his sister and nieces and nephews in Westmeath, and of his brother in Kilmarnock, before he shakes his head and calls Feuilly. He knows they won’t want him around, and he’s not sure he’s okay with being so far away from Courfeyrac at times like these, even though he knows they both need it.

“Everything okay?” Feuilly asks when he picks up.

“No, not really,” Combeferre admits with a heavy, uneasy sigh. “Courfeyrac and I, we fought. I told him I was Aegis and we- I don’t want to talk about it now, but can you come and pick me up?”

“Sorry?”

“Can you come and get me? From the tower, I mean. We need to be apart so we can both think about what was said and I can’t stay here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want me here, anyway.”

“Oh, Ferre,” Feuilly says softly, and Combeferre can practically see his fingers curling in the wire of the helicarrier’s phone. “We can be at the helipad in about fifteen, if that’s okay.”

“Great. Thank you.”

Combeferre hangs up and breathes slowly for a solid minute, eyes closed tight.

By the time he makes it to the helipad, Feuilly and Bahorel are already waiting there, Quinjet poised for take-off. Feuilly helps him on board with a steady hand and pulls him into a hug as soon as they’re settled.

“Thanks. You –you didn’t have to,” Combeferre says with a wavering voice. Feuilly presses his arms around his waist even tighter, squeezing him to his chest.

“Of course I did, we’re friends.” Feuilly releases him and knocks their shoulders together, a playful smile on his lips. “Besides, there’s people upstairs who’ve been dying to see you.”

The people upstairs turn out to be Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, all of whom launch themselves at him as soon as he gets onto the main ship floor. Joly squishes him around his waist, Bossuet claps a hand around his arm and Musichetta, at least six inches taller than him, envelops him in a hug from behind.

“We missed you!” Joly announces proudly, his head still buried in Combeferre’s chest despite his best efforts to look up and beam.

“They told us you’d be here when we got here, and you weren’t,” Bossuet continues with a comical pout. They prise themselves away from him and look him up and down properly for the first time.

“Something’s wrong,” Musichetta says after a few moments silence.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Joly’s frowning now, his usually smiling features pinched into an unhappy scowl. “What happened?”

Combeferre remains awkwardly silent, shifting unsteadily on his feet.

“Ferre,” Musichetta speaks firmly, and he looks up to see her eyes fixed on him and a displeased look on her face. She’s not a woman to be crossed, so Combeferre swallows and bites back his protests.

“Courf and I had a fight. It’s for the best that we’re apart for a while, I think.”

“And did Courfeyrac get a say in this?”

Combeferre’s silence is enough of an answer for her.

“Thought so,” she sighs long-sufferingly, shifting to squeeze his shoulder. “Come on. We have a room set up for you near myself and the boys’. Most of the rest of the team have arrived, by the way. They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

They leave him to unpack, telling him to meet them in the common room as soon as he’s ready, as that’s where the rest of the team are waiting. He takes his time, hanging up his suits carefully and with unsteady hands.

Which is about when he hears someone click their tongue in the hallway.

“I’ve never seen such a disregard for Armani in my life,” they smirk, and Combeferre freezes where he stands. “Not that I actively give a shit, but I can think of at least three people who’d be crying about those creases.”

Combeferre turns to see a woman leaning against the doorframe, blowing a bubble with her gum. Her skin is a soft, golden brown and her hair is dark and scraped back, a blunt fringe cutting across her features. She’s wearing the reddest lipstick Combeferre’s seen in recent years and winged eyeliner so neat and sharp he’s actually a little jealous. She’s in what at first appears to be standard S.H.I.E.L.D. issue uniform, but then he notices the modifications –gun holsters, a utility belt and larger, heavier boots.

“You must be the new blood,” she says decisively, eyeing him up and down a few times. “You’re weedier than I expected.”

Combeferre studies her for a long few minutes.

“I can only assume you’re Éponine.”

“The one and only,” she grins catlike, clicking her tongue again and winking mischievously. “Thenardier’s daughter, at your service.”

“I’m Combeferre.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” she smirks, holding out a hand to him and beckoning him closer. “You’ve got a very eager group of people waiting to meet you.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“They’re fantastic,” Éponine laughs. “Mental, totally mental, but fantastic.”

“That… Doesn’t fill me with confidence, unsurprisingly.”

Éponine huffs another laugh and grabs his hand, pulling him out of the room and down the corridor towards an archway and a lot of loud noises.

“Gentlefolk, we have a newcomer,” she announces to the room at large, and everyone falls silent.

There’s some people Combeferre recognises –Bahorel and Feuilly are bundled into one corner of a sofa and cuddled up together, and Joly and Bossuet are locked in an intense game of snakes and ladders while Musichetta looks on with a fond smile on her face.

The first person he notices, though, is the tiny human currently grinning up at him. They’ve soft tawny skin and a mountain of natural curls tumbling from their head, and their modified uniform matches Éponine’s almost perfectly.

“I’m Cosette,” they introduce themselves with a cheery handshake. “You must be Combeferre! It’s so good to meet you.”

“Yeah, hi. Nice to meet you,” he smiles uncertainly. “Can I ask your pronouns?”

“Oh, of course. She and her, thank you for asking,” she smiles brightly, her grin radiant. “And yours?”

“He is good, thanks.”

“So let me introduce you to everyone!” She claps her hands together and turns on her heel. “Obviously you already know some of these guys, but for those you don’t, this is going to be great.”

Several others in the room perk up in curiosity. One of them gets up and slides over to him. They’re tall, maybe an inch or two taller than him, and they look distinctly familiar. There’s orange lilies tucked into their messy, dreadlocked bun and they’re beaming at him.

“Jean Prouvaire. Call me Jehan.” Combeferre makes a noise of recognition because _of course, xe’s the mutant_ and shakes xyr hand.

As they shake hands, Jehan’s skin shifts and sparkles and suddenly xe’s blue with a shock of red hair and unblinking yellow eyes. To his credit, Combeferre barely even flinches, and Jehan cocks xyr head and smiles at him.

“Interesting reaction,” xe says, shifting back into xyr previous form. “You seem very calm, considering the circumstances.”

“I grew up with Tomcat and Protector. I can guarantee I’ve seen stranger.”

Jehan laughs and clasps a hand around his forearm.

“I think we’re going to get along great.”

Two more people have got to their feet and are hovering uncertainly behind Jehan.

“Oh my god, you’re Enjolras, aren’t you?”

The blonde behind Jehan startles, smiling self consciously up at Combeferre.

“Yes.”

“You’re the reason we even stood a chance in the Korean War! It’s an honour to meet you, Captain.” Enjolras seems surprised, but reaches out and shakes Combeferre’s hand anyway.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, sir,” ey replies, a curious look on eir face. “I’ve been told you work for de Courfeyrac Industries.”

“That’s true. I’ve known Courfeyrac for many years.”

“I knew his father,” Enjolras muses, a frown creasing eir delicate features. “I can only hope that his son is a better man than he ever was.”

“He is,” Combeferre says firmly and assuredly, finally releasing Enjolras’s hand. He hasn’t got a single fond memory of M. de Courfeyrac, barely knew the man anyway despite working for him for the three years preceding his death, but he knew the man’s opinions on his son and that was enough.

“To be a better man than Germain de Courfeyrac is hardly a challenge,” the person behind Enjolras pipes up, a wry smile distorting their features.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras scolds them, but there’s an air of affection in eir voice. Combeferre takes a moment to study the newcomer. They seem to be older than Enjolras, by a few years at most, but the years haven’t been as kind to them. Their entire left arm appears to be an advanced metal prosthetic and they look like they’ve not slept properly in some time.

Combeferre stares openly at them.

“Grantaire?” Combeferre says in surprise. “I thought you died.”

“You and everyone else on this damn planet,” Grantaire huffs, folding their arms over their chest and rolling their eyes.

“Falling from a plane tends to make people think that,” Enjolras hums in an attempt to calm them, fingers worrying along the line of their hipbone. Grantaire scoffs gently, and slides a hand to twist their fingers into Enjolras’s.

“We were going to marathon the _Lord of the Rings_ films, if you were interested,” Jehan says after a moment, twisting a stray dreadlock around xyr finger. “We’re catching these two up on all the pop culture they’ve missed.”

“We did _Game of Thrones_ last week,” Éponine continues, a small smile on her face. “Enjolras cried.”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t stay,” Musichetta tells them from across the room, where she’s still watching Joly and Bossuet. “I have a meeting. With Courfeyrac, actually. And Marius too, I’d suppose, since you’re not going to be there now.”

She exchanges a pointed look with Combeferre before she gets to her feet and wraps a gentle hand around his wrist.

“Is there anything you’d like me to tell him?”

“No,” Combeferre says after a long, quiet moment. “Just, let me know if he’s okay? And if he asks where I am, then you can tell him. I wouldn’t want him to worry any more than he probably already is.”

She nods curtly, pulling him into a one armed hug before she excuses herself.

“Sit with me,” Jehan says, ushering him to sit on the sofa beside Bahorel and Feuilly. “Can you braid hair?”

“Yeah, I’ve got sisters,” Combeferre settles down in one corner of the sofa and Jehan drops to the floor in front of him, settling between his legs. Xe shifts minutely and suddenly xyr whole appearances wavers and changes. Suddenly xyr hair is long and bright white, fading into a soft pink towards the ends. Xyr nose is smaller, softer somehow, lips fuller and pinker. Xe hands Combeferre a few purple ribbons.

“You’re reacting remarkably well to the fact that I can literally become a different person,” xe muses as Combeferre combs through xyr hair with his fingers. “Am I the first mutant you’ve met?”

“Besides Joly, yes,” Combeferre replies, quieting his voice as the movie starts playing on one of the projector screens in front of them. “I’ve only known him a week, though.”

“Really? The way he talks about you you’d think it’d been years,” Jehan hums, relaxing backwards as Combeferre starts braiding.

“We have a lot in common,” Combeferre shrugs, falling into an easy rhythm as he twists Jehan’s hair together. “We’re both into science, the love of our lives is kind of an idiot, and chances are, neither of us would be involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. if it wasn’t for somebody else.”

Jehan hums thoughtfully, handing Combeferre a collection of tiny, mismatched flowers to tuck into it. Combeferre dutifully ties the ribbon into a neat, even bow around Jehan’s hair and begins weaving the daisies and buttercups into place.

“I see,” xe says after a long moment, tapping xyr fingers absently across the fraying hole in the kneecap of xyr jeans. “Are you glad you’re in S.H.I.E.L.D. now, then? Even if it wouldn’t have been your first choice of career.”

Combeferre laughs gently, twisting a pansy into the beginning of Jehan’s braid.

“My first choice of career was medicine, when I was really little,” Combeferre muses, smoothing down a few stray hairs when he’s done with the flowers. “But if Courfeyrac hadn’t hired me when he did, I’d have been a teacher.”

“I can imagine that,” Jehan says with a soft smile, looking over xyr shoulder at him. Xe gets to xyr feet and shuffles into the tiny space between Combeferre and the arm of the sofa, xyr bandy legs curling up into a ball across his lap.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” xe asks after a moment, and when Combeferre turns to look at xem, xe’s absorbed in the film.

“Yeah,” he says a minute or two later, looking back at the screen. “Yeah, I should be.”

Jehan fumbles to catch his hand in the dark, links their fingers together and squeezes.

 

By the time Musichetta arrives at Courfeyrac’s tower, he’s frantic. He almost jogs out on to the helipad to meet her, Marius trailing distractedly behind him.

“Everything alright?” she says as he skids to an unsteady stop in front of her, Marius clutching at his back so he doesn’t fall over. He shakes his head and Marius instinctively tucks him into his side.

“Let’s get inside,” she murmurs quietly, sliding her arm around Courfeyrac’s other side and leading him back towards the doors, “get you a drink and sit you down, okay?”

Courfeyrac lets them both bundle him back into one of the many kitchen-diners in the tower, and Musichetta settles him into a chair while Marius busies himself with making coffee. Courfeyrac steadies his breathing for a few minutes, until Marius pushes a mug across the table into his hands and takes a seat opposite him.

“Combeferre’s gone,” he says carefully, words measured and slow. “Combeferre’s gone, and I don’t know what to do.”

Musichetta slides an arm around his waist and squeezes his hip.

“He’s just –he’s always been here and now he isn’t, and I don’t even know where he is or if he’s safe and I can’t, I can’t be expected to function if I don’t know if he’s okay, can I?” Courfeyrac looks up at them both through messy, dark curls, and Marius reaches over the table to squeeze his hand.

“He’s okay, he’s safe,” Musichetta tells him, and she feels Courfeyrac’s back relax under her hand.

“You know where he is?” he asks, turning to look at her and biting at his lips.

“I do,” she says quietly, looking over at Marius and reaching to smooth out Courfeyrac’s wild hair. “He’s on the helicarrier. Jehan, Joly and Bossuet will look after him.”

“But he’s okay?”

“As okay as he can be,” she continues, her eyes soft. “You both need time to think.”

“I’ve had time!” Courfeyrac protests, almost stumbling to his feet until Marius calms him with a gentle press of their hands together. “I know I was stupid and I overreacted and I was a hypocrite but I just want to see him. I need him to know I’m sorry and that I didn’t-”

“Breathe, Courf,” Marius reminds him gently, squeezing his hand.

“Right, sorry,” he takes a few unsteady breaths. “It’s just, he’s only been gone for a few hours and I miss him and it’s _ridiculous_ but I just want him to come home.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Musichetta looks at him sadly, a supportive smile on her face. “And he will. But for now, I think he’d want you to focus on keeping yourself healthy and at least something close to happy, okay?”

Courfeyrac nods weakly, his throat tight.

“Now, Marius,” she says, rounding on the other man, “I hear you’ve met someone.”

When she returns to the helicarrier a few hours later, she finds the rest of the team curled up in under blankets and mountains of pillows while Feuilly reads the first _Harry Potter_ book out loud. She’s quiet as she enters, toeing off her boots and pulling her headband away from her hair before nudging Joly with her feet.

“Move over,” she whispers, and he grins up at her, shifting closer into Bossuet’s side and lifting up the blanket. She smiles and settles herself down, throwing an arm over Joly’s shoulder and leaning over his head to press a kiss to Bossuet’s cheek.

“Hey,” Combeferre whispers from behind her, leaning down from the couch to talk to her. Jehan is dozing beside him, xyr head pillowed on his stomach. “Is Courfeyrac…”

“He’ll be okay,” she replies softly, sliding her free hand up to take hold of his. “And so will you.”

His grip on her hand tightens imperceptibly, and Jehan looks over at him, xyr eyes concerned even through a mess of white hair.

“You’ll see him soon,” xe says, a hand curling almost protectively around Combeferre’s side, “the time will do you both some good.”

Combeferre doesn’t believe them, but he closes his eyes and relaxes anyway.

 

He wakes up in the morning to Joly and Jehan quite literally sitting on him. Jehan has positioned xemself half on Combeferre’s chest, half on the bed, and today xe looks like a tiny Japanese person, freckles peppering across the bridge of xyr nose and dark hair trimmed into an undercut on the left. Joly has draped himself across Combeferre’s legs, pyjama shorts slung low on his hips and a shirt that’s at least four sizes too big for him draped over his shoulders.

“Morning,” Jehan says, a smile on xyr face as xe holds out Combeferre’s glasses to him. “You’ve got thirty six hours.”

“What?” Combeferre replies blearily, clumsily putting his glasses on and rubbing at his eyes. He squints at Joly. “Are you wearing Musichetta’s shirt?”

Joly raises an eyebrow at him then looks down at himself and back up.

“Oh,” he says with a surprised hum, “looks like I am. It’s comfy and it smells like her, though.”

“That’s adorable,” Jehan nudges him with xyr foot, brushing hair out of xyr eyes. “But when did _that_ actually happen?”

“Um,” Joly has the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Maybe a week after we met each other? Because I knew Bossuet before, we were stationed together in Bogota before Chetta came to get us for S.H.I.E.L.D., and he’s really attractive but so is she but I’d been trying to work up the courage to ask him out for _months_ and I never had. But when they met they really got along well and I thought, _right, I won’t bother then,_ and they started going on dates together. Only to the mess hall, mind you, but it was enough.”

Joly kicks his legs out and leans back on his hands.

“And then one day they asked me to go with them, so I did, but afterwards I felt weird because I’m not as attractive as either of them and there’s nothing I can offer them and-” He winces, and both Jehan and Combeferre reach out to squeeze his arm or leg in comfort. He smiles gently at them both and takes a steadying breath.

“But I got over it, in a way. I had some of the hardest conversations of my life with both of them, but I’m glad I did. They’re brilliant, and I’m really lucky they’re in my life, after everything.”

“Everything?” Combeferre says curiously, smoothing his hand over Joly’s.

“The whole ‘tiny transgender Korean queer mutant’ is kind of a hard sell, in my experience,” he shrugs airily. “But it’s kind of –I’m kind of over it now, I guess? I know they love me, even on days where I don’t really love myself.”

He looks at his feet and smiles to himself.

“That’s lovely,” Jehan murmurs after a moment, huffing a small smile. “And it’s also why you should work things out with Courfeyrac.”

Xe turns to Combeferre with a curious look on xyr face.

“What do me and Courfeyrac have to do with this?”

“You love him, don’t you?” Joly says, shifting and crossing his legs, his eyes meeting Combeferre’s.

“Well, yes, obviously I do. There’s never really been anyone else, honestly,” Combeferre replies, fingers picking absently at his blankets and refusing to look at either of them.

“He’s going to be here tomorrow,” Jehan reminds him gently. “Do you know what you’re going to say to him?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Combeferre sighs. “He knows where I stand on this. I love him but if he wants me to stop being a superhero then I can’t be with him. I’d never ask him to stop being Tomcat, no matter how much I worry about him, and he’s got no right to ask me to stop being Aegis.”

“And did he ask you to stop?” Joly inquires softly, his hand finding Combeferre’s and smoothing over the back of his palm.

“Not in as many words, no,” Combeferre admits quietly, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I left before he really had chance to say anything. I didn’t want to hear the worst, I suppose.”

“Ferre,” Joly grumbles with an affectionate air in his voice. 

“I know, I know,” the older man replies, looking over at Joly through his hair. “I should’ve let him speak. I owe him an apology. And if he decides that he doesn’t want me in his life anymore, then I’ll go.”

“I very much doubt he will, but if that’s what you want,” Jehan says, squeezing his knee. “Now come on. We’re training today.”

The two of them usher him out of his room forty five minutes later, dressed in full costume, to one of the rooms in the lower decks of the helicarrier. Most of their teammates are already there, with the notable exception of Éponine.

“Morning,” Enjolras greets them with a small smile, blonde curls scraped back into a bun at the back of eir head. Ey’s wearing a uniform that Combeferre recognises as a modernised version of eir old Korean War uniform, but the material appears thicker, more hardwearing, and the blues clash brighter with eir golden skin. Ey’s a vision, truly, and Combeferre understands why people fell at eir feet to surrender.

Grantaire lurks about behind em, clad in all black with a mask up to their eyes and their hair falling wild about their face. They’re kicking and hitting at a dummy, and after a moment it falls flat to the floor with a crash. They pull back their mask and grin over at Combeferre, Joly and Jehan, who shuffle past them towards their own dummies.

Bahorel, in the meantime, has sheared his into several individual pieces, and Feuilly is shaking his head in despair from the sidelines.

“What?” Bahorel yells across the room with a barking laugh. “You told me to show off my skills, so I did!”

Feuilly buries his face in his clipboard with a groan, and Bahorel only grins around cheekily.

Combeferre takes a position between Cosette, who’s peppering her own dummy with arrows, and Éponine, who is still nowhere to be found. He readies himself to shoot his repulsors, when suddenly there’s a crash beside him. He startles and turns to see Éponine has pounced from the rafters on to her dummy and buried a dagger into its throat.

“Subtle,” Combeferre says breathlessly. She laughs and grins up at him, wrenching the knife from its throat and pulling a handful of stuffing with it as she goes.

“Go on then,” she smirks, getting to her feet and dusting down her uniform, sheathing her dagger in her belt. “Dazzle me.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes, readies himself again and fires five quick shots at the dummy. It rolls backwards and he advances on it, throwing a few quick punches and kicks until it yields and clatters to the floor.

She claps slowly, her smile reaching her eyes.

“Nicely done,” she comments. “I look forward to working with you.”

“And I you,” he replies, and she laughs before clapping a hand on his shoulder and slinking off to watch Jehan transform into each of xyr teammates in turn.

Combeferre turns to see Joly phasing through the rear wall and flattening his dummy into the floor, flickering his fists through the dummy’s chest and pulling them back with a violent tug and bringing stuffing as he goes.

“Wow,” Grantaire whistles from the sidelines, where they’re leaning against the wall and reloading an Uzi. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Joly blushes ferociously and skitters off to tuck himself under Musichetta’s arm, leaving a trail of fluff behind him as he goes.

“Nice work,” Feuilly says, appearing behind Combeferre and making him start. “You can fly too, yes?”

“Yeah,” Combeferre confirms with a quick nod. “Why haven’t you waited until Marius and Courfeyrac got here to do this?”

“We know in great detail what they can and can’t do, and it seemed silly to wait,” Feuilly shrugs. “How are you holding up?”

“Been better, honestly,” Combeferre replies frankly, fingers worrying distractedly at his belt. “I’ll see him tomorrow, and if that’s the end of it, then so be it.”

“If you’re sure,” Feuilly says sagely a moment later, squeezing his shoulder. “A few of us are getting coffee down below after this session, if you wanted to join us?”

“Sure,” Combeferre replies, thinking it will take his mind off things. “Let me change first.”

They descend on a coffee house in Camden a few hours later, in a somewhat terrifying sight to the staff and locals. If anyone notices that Combeferre’s wearing Courfeyrac’s jacket, then no one says a word.

 

He wakes early the next morning, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. He shaves mechanically, fumbling with his contacts and stumbling his way down to the mess hall in his pyjamas. The rest of the team are already there, along with a slew of other agents who are varying shades of awake. 

Grantaire pushes a cup of coffee across the table at him and he smiles graciously at them, drawing himself into a conversation with Cosette and Bahorel about the perks of long-range weaponry over fists.

Jehan bundles him off after he’s eaten half a slice of toast, being unable to stomach anything more. Xe’s already dressed in something fitted and made of white leather, so Combeferre lets xem march him into his rooms.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” xe asks, watching absently as Combeferre dresses himself in his uniform.

“I’ve not exactly got much choice now,” Combeferre replies, tugging his boots on carefully. He clips his belt around his waist, pulls his gloves on and rests his mask on the top of his head. “Worst comes to the worst, I’ll deal with it. I’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince himself or Jehan, and so he ushers xem out of the room and back towards the main deck.Some of the team are already there; Éponine’s spinning guns around her fingers while Cosette watches and plays absently with the string of her bow. Grantaire nods perfunctorily at him as he enters, but they’re distracted with tightening the straps around Enjolras’s thigh gun holsters. Enjolras emself is running eir fingers anxiously around the edge of eir shield, polished to a high sheen as always, and mumbling quietly with Musichetta.

“Hey,” Joly approaches them then, his own uniform a vibrant yellow and black combination. “Everything okay? We’re moving to the meeting room in five. Courfeyrac and Marius are joining us within the hour.”

He takes a carefully guarded look at Combeferre.

“We’re fine,” Jehan speaks for him, and Combeferre is grateful. “Is Valjean around?”

“He’s waiting for us in the meeting room,” Bossuet interjects, sliding a grounding hand around Joly’s waist. “Feuilly’s going to take us through once we all get here.”

On cue, a slightly ruffled Feuilly and an even worse-for-wear Bahorel appear from the direction of their rooms, smoothing out their hair and uniforms as they shuffle closer to the group.

“Do they realise they’re not fooling anyone?” Jehan mumbles under xyr breath. “All they’ve done since I got here is cuddle up to each other.”

“I’ve known Feuilly since I got involved with S.H.I.E.L.D., he’s a very private person. If he wants us to know, then we’ll know,” Combeferre shrugs, smiling at the two of them in greeting. “Until then, we keep pretending not to notice.”

Jehan stifles a giggle against xyr hand and leans into Combeferre’s side, even as Feuilly starts briefing them all on the plan of action for the day. That manages to eat up half an hour, and soon Feuilly is ushering them all into the meeting room adjacent to the main deck. Combeferre steels himself with a long breath and follows Jehan and Joly inside, and finds himself facing Valjean, Marius and Courfeyrac on the other side of the room.

Courfeyrac looks _terrible_ , like he’s barely slept and had to be forced to eat and dress himself and the thought fills Combeferre with a horrible guilt. He itches to run to him, to hug him and kiss him and tell him he’s sorry, but he knows now isn’t the time. Feuilly senses his unrest and presses a hand to the small of his back, guiding him to fall in line between Bahorel and Musichetta.

“Good morning, team,” Valjean says with a broad smile, leaning across the table to shake each of their hands individually. “Today I’d like to introduce you to the remaining members of your team, Marius and Courfeyrac.”

He gestures to Marius to begin talking, but the man is seemingly enraptured with Cosette.

“Mr. Pontmercy?” Valjean presses after a moment, looking at Marius with concern.

“It’s you!” he exclaims after a further minute of pregnant silence. The girl stares at him blankly for a solid minute before recognition flashes across her features and she startles away from him.

“Waddington! You were my mark!” she yells back, excitable as ever. “That Air Marshall jumped in front of you and I hit him instead.”

“I know!” Marius claps his hands excitedly for a minute before the words process in his head and he stops and stares at her. “Wait, hang on –you mean you were actually trying to kill me?”

“Yes?” she says airily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Master assassin, you know? But in hindsight, I think I’m glad I missed.”

By now they’ve moved to stand in front of each other, clasping their hands together and gazing deeply into the other’s eyes.

Everyone watches blankly, awkwardly, for a few minutes until Valjean clears his throat.

“As I was saying,” he says with a stern raised eyebrow in their direction. “The team is complete. If you’d all like to introduce yourselves, that’d be beneficial to your relationships.”

They mingle after that, and Combeferre hangs back by the door with Feuilly to watch the rest of them get to know each other. Bahorel sidles up to the both of them after about fifteen minutes, propping himself against the wall beside Combeferre.

“You know, I can’t help but notice you’re not talking to anyone,” he comments, and Combeferre bristles.

“No need,” he attempts nonchalance as he replies, busying himself with straightening his belt. “I’m already quite acquainted with everyone in this room.”

“Not quite what I meant,” Bahorel laughs harshly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Go, socialise. I need to speak to Feuilly alone.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes but complies anyway, pushing himself off the wall and making a beeline for Marius. The man himself is talking to Éponine, one hand gesturing wildly and the other keeping a firm hold on a thermos of tea.

“Combeferre,” the other man says with a broad smile as he approaches. “It’s good to see you.”

“Marius,” he replies with a cordial nod. “It’s good to see you, too. How’ve you been?”

“Things have been better,” Marius responds bluntly, at which point Éponine sees fit to take her leave and slinks off to speak with Cosette. “The last few days haven’t been easy on anyone, it seems.”

“No,” Combeferre admits, glancing furtively across the room at Courfeyrac, who’s embroiled in a conversation with Enjolras and Grantaire. “They haven’t. How is he?”

“He’s… alright, in his way,” Marius looks over to survey his friend. “He wants to talk to you, though. That much I can say for certain.”

“That’s good, at least,” Combeferre says quietly, looking at his feet before meeting Marius’s dark eyes. “I want to speak to him, too, but I’m not sure now is the right setting.”

“I think you’re in luck,” Marius nods over Combeferre’s shoulder, and the older man turns to see Valjean, “looks like he’s calling a break for coffee. I can make sure everyone leaves, if you want.”

“You’d do that?”

“Combeferre,” Marius responds with a soft laugh, reaching out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder, “you should know by now that more than anything, I want you and Courf to be happy. Yes, I can empty the room for you. Don’t worry about it. If you really want to repay me, though, I wouldn’t say no to an all-expenses paid date for myself and Cosette when I ask her out.”

Combeferre laughs dryly.

“Consider it done,” he pulls Marius in for a tight, quick hug. “Thank you.”

Marius offers him a joking salute and turns to begin to usher everyone out of the room, promising talk of a trip down to London to the best coffee house he knows.

The electric door slides closed behind him, leaving Combeferre in one corner of the room and Courfeyrac in the other.

Combeferre turns to look at him, and finds Courfeyrac already staring at him, so he averts his gaze and mumbles a quiet ‘hi’ under his breath.

Courfeyrac returns it, chancing a step closer to the other man. They stand in deathly, unusual silence for several minutes, until Courfeyrac closes his eyes, takes a shuddering breath and clears his throat.

“The tower’s quiet without you,” he comments, fingers itching to hold the other man’s hand.

“My life’s quiet without you,” Combeferre counters, voice soft as he looks Courfeyrac up and down. The other man’s eyes are wet, and he’s pulling restlessly at the sleeves of his suit, and Combeferre feels impossibly worse.

“I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac continues stiltedly after a further moment’s silence. “I was a hypocrite, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you worried about me so much, and I realise –I realise now that I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did to you telling me about Aegis. I should’ve supported you, and I didn’t.”

He stops to knot his fingers together, and Combeferre has to stop himself stepping forward and linking their hands.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, when it becomes clear that Courfeyrac isn’t going to continue. “I should’ve let you speak before I ran. I just assumed you would make me choose between you or Aegis, and I wasn’t ready to do that.”

“Ferre, I would never,” Courfeyrac appears horrified by the very thought, and reaches out to do what Combeferre wasn’t brave enough to, connecting their hands with a firm squeeze.

“I know that now, but I’m still sorry,” the older man shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

He squeezes Courfeyrac’s hands in his own, bringing one up to his lips to press a gentle, reverent kiss to the back of his palm. Courfeyrac watches, adoration plain in his eyes, and he moves closer still towards him. They look only at each other for a long while, eyes searching the other’s as Combeferre slides a hand to trace the line of Courfeyrac’s jaw.

“Are we okay?” Combeferre asks eventually, voice soft and gentle in Courfeyrac’s ear.

“Depends,” Courfeyrac replies with a wry smile that disguises the nervousness in his voice. “Do you still love me?”

“Stupid boy,” Combeferre laughs, continuing immediately lest Courfeyrac’s smile drop. “That implies I ever stopped.”

Courfeyrac breaks out into a grin then, and leans up to connect their lips in a fierce, happy kiss. Combeferre smiles into him, hands finding their home on his hips and his heart about ready to beat out of his chest with joy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://badlydressedbahorel.tumblr.com)!


End file.
